


The Three Soldiers

by Hungry_and_tired



Category: Dunkirk (2017)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Blow Jobs, Eventual Smut, Fluff and Angst, Hand Jobs, I'm Going to Hell, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Polygamy, Threesome - M/M/M, but it's briefly mentioned, outside relationship
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-30
Updated: 2019-02-09
Packaged: 2019-02-23 21:10:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,961
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13198629
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hungry_and_tired/pseuds/Hungry_and_tired
Summary: Gibson, Tommy, and Alex have all escaped the bloody shores of Dunkirk, at least physically. Mentally, the broken boys are stuck in the past, and they need to rely on each other in order to move on.I really suck at summaries, and the summary is subject to change.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hey! Thanks for checking out this flaming pile of garbage. This is my first ever fanfic, and it wasn't beta-read, so there's probably a few dumb mistakes. Feel free to point them out and provide criticism in the comments.  
> P.S I'm looking for a beta-reader so my writing sucks less, so feel free to contact me if you're interested.

No. No. _No._

He should be wrapped in rope, trapped in a bullet-riddled boat at the bottom of the channel. He should be at rest, forgotten, decaying. 

This is all wrong.

_He should be dead._

But he wasn't, at least not his body. He still moved, weaving through crowds of lost souls, clutching a piece of paper that his eyes could only skim over. He was vaguely aware of the thumping ache pulsing through his body, like a distant war drum banging in the trenches. He could feel his stiff clothes rubbing against his raw skin, too-big and causing him to stumble occasionally. 

Yes, his body was there, safe and on dry-land, but his mind couldn't be further away.

He mind was still on that boat, rope weaved around it like a Boa Constrictor, squeezing it harder the more he struggled. His head was still surrounded by crushing water, clouding his thoughts like a fog as he fought for air. He still saw very little, his mind could only focus on two soldiers escaping as he was left to-.

He squeezed his eyes shut, firmly shaking his head. He clenched his fists, bloody and torn nails biting at calloused palms, he tried to use the pain ground himself. He couldn't keep thinking about that. He couldn't afford to. He needed to leave the past where it belonged. They didn't matter anymore. Whatever had happened to them, they were out of his life forever. He needed to move on, they had. There was still a war to be fought, and there was no sense in getting caught up on strangers when you were at a near constant risk of getting your head blown off.

But they weren't strangers, at least not in the way he wanted them to be. Strangers, the type he wanted them to be, were people you brushed shoulders with as you passed by, people who didn't impact your life in any way meaningful. But they weren't like that, not at all. They were the type of strangers that made you wish things were different, so that you would have a chance to know them better, spend time with them. He had known them, he told himself, and he had spent time with them. But a small, weary voice in the back of his mind spoke softly, _But you wanted so much more than to spend a few wordless days with them._ His nails dug harder into his palms, what was the point in wanting something he'd never get. He didn't even know what he wanted, he just felt the urge to grab their hands and _run_. But regardless of whether or not knowing his desires, they were gone. They where either far away, being rounded up with other soldiers and being prepared to return to the battle, or they were dead. Simple as that. _But it's not that simple_ , the meek voice ventured, _it never is_. 

He swallowed, it hurt to think about such things. So instead he forced his mind to the task at hand: Finding out what was next.

He almost wished the boat filled with civilians hadn't cut him loose, hadn't forced life back into his tired and battered body. He wished he was free from pain, loneliness, fear, life. He was so close to freedom, but God had punished him for his cowardice and sent him a rescue. He had always questioned if there really was a god, especially while out on the battlefield. If there was a God, he was certain God had left the soldiers of Dunkirk.

He looked at the slip of paper for the umpteenth time, trying to dissect the paper's content. 'Gibson' was scrawled on the top right corner, and he had to suppress a shudder from running through his weakened body.

He was Gibson. Though he had only adopted, _stolen_ , the name a short time ago, It seemed like he had been Gibson for ages. He had spent a lifetime on the beach of Dunkirk. Out of curiosity, he whispered his, _his_ , name.

"Philippe." His voiced sounded cracked and frayed, and the attempt to speak threw him into a coughing fit that scratched at his throat, stopping him in his tracks as soldiers simply flowed around him. Philippe's own name felt like dust on his tongue. _No_ , the small voice reminded him when his coughs subsided, _your name is Gibson now._

Gibson remembered the day he buried the real Gibson and stole his identity. He was desperate for an escape, a chance at survival. He had found the soldier already dead, and he ran towards the body as he realized the opportunity. He had decided to bury the soldier and pray, Gibson felt that the man deserved at least that much. He had just snagged the dog tags off the soldier when he looked up, spotting someone. He had been terrified he was caught, and would be shot on the spot for desertion. He just hoped his death would be merciful. But no, the boy, who couldn't be older than twenty, simply stared back at him, unsuspecting eyes regarding him curiously. That was the day he met-.

No. That was besides the point. The point was that he was Gibson now, and that was that.

Gibson refocused on the page, blinking rapidly. Further down there were a chunk of words that sent a wave of anxiety through him. He couldn't read a thing, it all looked like gibberish to him. He raked through the words, trying to pick out the ones he could translate.

He made-out what he thought was 'soldiers', could easily translate 'local', and he guessed at a word: 'houses'. A few words later there was what he thought was a date and an address.

His brow furrowed, were soldiers being quartered? _English soldiers_ , he corrected himself. There was a pang in his heart, and his vision clouded. He wasn't a French soldier anymore, he was Gibson, an English soldier. He wondered what would happen to the French soldiers, the ones that made it off the beach, at least. 

_I should be dead._ The once small voice grew in size, claiming more space in Gibson's mind. _I should have died with my comrades, but instead I chose to run, to desert my troop, leaving them to save myself._

No, he was veering off track again, he found that was happening more and more frequently. No doubt, the French soldiers would be sent back to their home country to fight the Germans. _It's useless,_ he thought, _France has fallen, we need to negotiate, ask for mercy._

_This is why I abandoned them, I'd rather run than fight. They're all better than me, they chose to stay and fight, to die like heroes. I chose to prioritize myself over my country._

An overwhelming feeling of shame began to creep out of the cracks in his soul, threatening to split him apart. He felt his hands begin to shake, the slip of paper crinkling in his clenched fist, his feet were planted in the ground.

Soldiers brushed past him, each focused on their own destination. They had all seen it before, the poor lads who came undone.

Even through his hazy mind, he knew he needed to get out of the way, become hidden. Something he had always excelled at. He willed himself to move off to the side of the train station, ducking behind a column. He leaned against it, his legs felt like they'd crumble any second. His eyes slid closed, and pulled his mind out of the depths, bringing it into the present, something his mother taught-

His mother, his family, what had happened to them?

Gibson's breath hitched, and his eyes squeezed tight. His mind was pulled down under. Everything felt so far away, but it was all so suffocating. Shivers wracked his body and he felt himself slide to the floor. Everything was too loud, he couldn't block out the deafening sound of trains arriving and leaving, boots hitting the ground, and endless chatter amongst the soldiers, even as he placed trembling hands over his ears. Nothing made sense as his thoughts stormed around him angrily.

Gibson hadn't experienced the rush of that many thoughts since he abandoned his troop. His mind had been shut off, blocking out all thoughts that weren't about immediate survival. It had been like that for weeks, he had simply drifted along, just looking to live another day. _God_ , everything was moving too fast.

The once quiet voice was continuing to rise in intensity, becoming even louder than the sounds around him. _Does my family know that I'm not dead? Have they evacuated France? Are they safe? Where will they stay? Are they even alive?_

Everything was too much. He curled in on himself, trying to escape. His terror grew as all sense of security was drowned, pulling him down with them.

_What will happen? I can't go back to the war. My family is dead, they're dead. I wish I had drowned, I wish I was gone. I wish I-_

Then suddenly, through the cacophony of the bustling train station and vicious thoughts, he heard his mother, her voice cutting through the clamor like a knife cuts through rope.

_STOP!_

All sound ceased, leaving him in complete silence. He felt himself calm, albeit only a bit. He was at the mercy of his mind, he clung to the lifeline, trying to block out everything but his mother's voice.

His mother's voice came again, softer this time, like the voice she used to calm her son when he felt his world was collapsing.

_Everything is fine_ , said the voice, _we're all safe, and we all love you. we'll be okay, as will you. We miss you, and we'll all cry and rejoice at your return. Everything is fine, we're all safe, and we all love you..._

Slowly his mind began to clear, and he felt as though he were emerging from the depths of a cold, brutal ocean. His arms loosened from around himself, fingers uncurling from the fabric of his pants, legs becoming stronger. He became aware of a stinging sensation around his eyes, and he coaxed them open. He vision swam and was blurry, he could feel hot tears run down his cheeks. He wiped them away with the back of his hand, a shaky breath leaving his worn and tattered body.

Gibson wasn't sure how long he spent repeating the words, but it didn't seem like too much time had passed. He uneasily rose to his feet, teetering a bit. He glanced down at the crumpled sheet that lay limply in his hands.

_I just need to find where I'm staying, things will sort themselves out, they always do._

He stumbled back to the crowd, rejoining the soldiers all headed to their temporary housings. Gibson looked at the sheet in his hand again, there was more writing he needed to figure out, but right then he just wanted to find where he was sleeping. He wasn't sure where it was, but could tell from the address that he was already in the right port town.

Thinking on it, he realized he didn't even know where the crowd was headed, he looked around, trying to piece it all together.

Many soldiers were only carrying the clothes on their backs and the thin, scratchy blankets that had been passed out after they reached land, and all of them looked like they had walked through hell, wrapped tightly in their blankets. Gibson didn't have his, he had passed it off to another soldier, one that was too young for war. He had looked so cold even with a blanket around his body, eyes downcast and afraid, shivering as he shuffled along. He looked defeated, and entirely alone. Gibson's heart went out to the young boy, and he draped his blanket over the boy's shoulder. He had walked away before the soldier could address him, but he could've sworn he heard a small sniffle come from the boy.

The war had taken everything from the soldiers, the only thing they had were small possessions, and even they weren't a common thing found among the lot. War did that, it always came, always waged by people with no humanity, always fought by men who were forced to give up theirs, and it always left all too-young bodies in it's wake. And always, those who survived the war would be left with nothing. And the men that had caused it would start another, having learned nothing, always.

The thought filled Gibson with anger, things would never change. People like him, like the boy with the blanket, would always be thrust into conflicts, they'd always be the first to go. People like them were expendable to people like that. 

Gibson's jaw clenched, and he looked at the soldiers again.

All of them looked exhausted, just wanting a place to be safe. Dunkirk had been a military disaster, a miscalculation, and the soldiers had to pay the price. They all looked beaten, but all had silent defiance etched onto their features, even the boy Gibson gave his blanket to had a small fire within, Gibson realized. Gibson couldn't pin down exactly where it was coming from, but it was most definitely there. They had survived, they had been put through hell, and survived. This was their victory march. 

At that moment, what Gibson felt was something he had grown used to the absence of: determination.

His days as a soldier left him without it, and he simply became puppet, but now he felt as though his strings had been cut. The war had taken him in, used him up, and spat him back out. He had even gone so far as to not caring much about surviving until he'd gotten close to escaping, which sparked a light within. But even that urge wasn't inspired by determination, his acts at Dunkirk had been acts of self-preservation, driven by fear, everything had. But things were changing.

He was still alive, against all odds. What used to seem like a curse moments before, was now a miracle. The shame of desertion still echoed inside him, but Gibson couldn't be happier, surrounded by dirty and injured soldiers in a cramped train station, heading to god knows where, and he was happy.

Gibson felt tears prick his eyes again, for an entirely different reason this time. Feeling like he could take on the world, he looked at the address written on the paper. He committed the words to mind, repeating them.

God, he felt good. He suspected tears were falling, but couldn't care less. Deep down, he knew that he'd have to go back to the war, but he had made it through once, he could sure as hell do it again. He'd stumble at times, that was inevitable, but he'd never stay down, look back. The healing process would be long, and it would be difficult to cope with the horrors he had witnessed, but he was willing to try. It was in the past, it couldn't hurt him now, the rope had been cut and left behind. The most difficult part would be moving past the two soldiers, Tommy and Alex.

He could almost taste the bitter-sweetness of it.

They were just people he had met on a beach, temporary allies, if even that. He'd always cherish the few moments of peace he got to spend with them, but he wouldn't let the memories hold him back, he couldn't. Gibson had felt a twinge of betrayal in their final moments together, he wasn't strong enough to move past that. But at least it had been for their own survival, perfectly respectable. They very well could've drowned trying to free him. Of course the people that _had_ saved him didn't drown, he noted with a frown. 

_Every man for himself, after all. Besides, Alex considered me an enemy, not a friend._

His happiness faltered for a moment, as did his footsteps. He was nearing the exit, the light coming through the glass doors bouncing off the granite walls. He rushed to reassure himself.

He reminded himself there had only been a brief alliance, nothing more. Besides, it didn't matter, he was starting a new chapter of his life, he'd never see them again.

Gibson was at a set of doors now, and he pushed past them, stepping into the light, and it felt like heaven. He was immediately greeted by cool air, a gentle breeze ruffling his hair. It was a gorgeous day, a few puffy clouds dotting the impossibly blue sky, the courtyard in front of him buzzing with energy. There were many small groups of soldiers, comparing addresses and exchanging information, he suspected. He distantly wondered if he'd have house mates, but that thought was shoved to the very back of his mind, he was too drawn in by the welcoming scene. He hadn't seen anything this peaceful for months, and the sight threatened to send a new wave of tears rolling over his cheeks.

Gibson was too enamored to notice the slip of paper falling from his fingers, and was pulled out of his trance only after a there was a flurry of white in his peripheral. He stepped forward, reaching out to the paper. He hadn't read all of it yet, he'd need the information. Right as his fingertips grazed the edge, it flew further from his reach. He let out a sigh, stepping closer. Every time he was about to grab the sheet it just flew further from his reach. _This must look funny to others_ , he thought, slightly annoyed. He was completely focused on the paper, ignoring everything. He jolted when he ran into the back of a soldier, forgetting the paper that had fluttered into the crowd.

"Watch it." Of course Gibson couldn't understand what was being said, but the soldier was obviously irritated. He stepped back hastily as the soldier turned towards him.

It was Alex.

Gibson felt ropes appear around his ankles, happiness fleeing.

No. No. _No._

_Please, God, not him. Not Alex._

But it was him.

Alex looked down at him, once narrowed eyes now wide with disbelief. The look on his face betrayed his thoughts:

_You should be dead._

Gibson was held in place, ropes coiling around his body, starting to squeeze. No, that's not how this is supposed to go, he's supposed to be far away from Alex, he was never supposed to see him again. Fear dripped into his bloodstream, infecting him.

Alex just stared, as if Gibson were a ghost that had appeared out of nowhere. To be fair, as far as Alex knew that could very well be the case.

Alex, for once in his life, looked afraid. Gibson felt his heart crack.

They were both frozen in time, everything but them nonexistent. Things finally snapped back into motion when they heard a soft, astonished voice come through the silence.

"Gibson?"

Gibson sucked in a breath, eyes darting from Alex to the boy that was behind him, Tommy. Tommy looked, well, Tommy looked terrified. He stepped back, and Gibson felt his heart split.

"You're alive?" Alex stepped in front of Tommy, Gibson now only saw Alex towering over him, eyes filled with confusion and hate.

Gibson understood well enough what he meant, and he nodded numbly, mind surrounded by water. Alex stepped closer, crowding him, hurt now painting his features.

"I want you to leave, now. I want you to leave and never come back-"

"Alex." Tommy said from behind, reaching a hand out to touch his shoulder, Alex merely shrugged it off.

_"Leave."_

A rush of emotions traveled through Gibson like lightning. Did, did Alex want him to go? He must have wanted him to, it was painfully obvious. The way Alex was close enough that their boots were touching, glowering down at him, the anger and desperation on his face, the way he shielded Tommy.

Gibson wanted to move, he wanted to run away and never come back. His fragile sense of tranquility had been shattered, and he was left with the broken shards cutting his fingertips as he hopelessly tried to piece it back together.

_This isn't a big deal, it's not. I've just ran into them, and I'm leaving soon, and this will all be over, please God, let it be over, please, please._

Gibson tried to move, tried to back away, but he just couldn't. Alex's piercing eyes had a grip on him, he couldn't move, no matter how much he wanted to.

But a part of him didn't want to. Part of him wanted to embrace them both, never let them go. Even through the fear and shock, he found that he was relieved that they were alive and safe. He wanted to be safe, with them. He wanted to forget the war by their side, finally having people he can call his friends. He wanted to spend his days with them, the boy that noticed him and the boy that challenged him. But it's impossible, they know what's he's done, what he's not. Without batting an eye, they could turn him in, leave him to rot in a cell, and not miss a wink of sleep at night.

Alex pushed him back, and Gibson nearly stumbled to the ground.

"Go." He heard Alex's voice again but he can hardly comprehend it. He's been pulled under the waves, begging for a breath, but getting none.

"I said _Go._ " Alex shoved him that time, and Gibson fell to the ground, legs straight out in front of him, and he supported himself on his elbows.

Men around them turned to the scene, confusion apparent. Alex just let out a sort of growl, a warning. They all turned back, not wanting or caring enough to get involved.

Alex's anger turned to rage, and he pressed forward before Tommy's hand gripped his shoulder, pulling him back.

Alex turned to Tommy, and Gibson could see Tommy again. There were creases on his forehead, his eyebrows knitted together as he quietly spoke to Alex. Gibson didn't know what he was saying, but could see Alex's shoulders tense.

With neither of the soldiers looking at him, Gibson regained control of himself, and he picked himself up shakily. He needed to escape, needed to get away from them.

"We aren't helping him, Tommy, we've already helped too much." Said Alex, before turning back to look at the quivering soldier he thought he'd never see again.

But Gibson was already gone.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This work has been dead for a while, but I've decided to revive it! Idk what the posting schedule will be, but at I at least plan to actively work on it. I had actually written this chapter a while ago but just never got around to posting it, the chapter is short and the ending is kind of abrupt, but I plan to make the next chapter longer and better.

“We’re not helping him, Tommy, we’ve already helped him more than he deserves!” The words left Alex in a rush, pushed out of his mouth through anger.

Tommy stared at Alex, his expression betraying his thoughts. Alex held his stare, they were in a deadlock. Before long, Tommy opened his mouth to speak, but Alex cut him off by spinning on his heels, turning back to the soldier, intent on further scathing him. But he wasn’t there. Alex stared at the spot where the boy once was, jaw clenched so hard his teeth grinded against each other. His hands became fists, and a burning sensation ran through his scratched and bruised knuckles (he had gotten into a fight shortly after he had gotten off the train, leaving him with torn knuckles and a bruise quickly blooming over his jaw. He couldn’t remember what the fight had been about).

Behind him, Tommy let out a soft sigh.

“Now look at what you’ve done…” Tommy said, voice hushed.

Alex could feel the anger almost bubbling in his throat, and he began to shake with poorly-restrained emotion.

“I’d say that I’ve done us a favor, we don’t need that fucking traitor around.”Alex turned back around to face Tommy, finding his companion staring at him with crestfallen eyes. The sight almost made Alex feel guilty. Almost.

After a moment, Tommy's face suddenly hardened and he looked off in the distance behind Alex, and, keeping his eyes trained there, walked forward past Alex and grabbed his hand.

"We need to find him."

Alex immediately dug his heels into the pavement, pulling his hand out of Tommy's grasp.

"What? Tommy, I told you that we've already helped him enough, he's not our problem anymore!"

Tommy turned around to face Alex. His eyes had a hint of red, and he ran the back of his hand over his face, wiping away fresh tears.

_God, Tommy, don't make me feel like an arsehole._

"I don't care." Tommy said, voice wavering. "Gibson needs our help, he's lost in a country he doesn't know, and he can't even speak English. What happens if he's found out? He'll be thrown in jail if he's lucky, or he'll be shot on the spot. I've already let him down once."

Tommy walked off, and Alex cringed. Tommy had only said that he himself had let the soldier down, but Alex understood what was behind those words, whether Tommy had meant to imply it or not. _We let him down._

Alex shook his head. No, no. He hadn't done anything wrong. The man was a traitor to his own fucking country, he deserved to die for his cowardice. Besides, Alex would've risked losing his own life if he had stayed to try and help.

Alex repeated it to himself as he started forward, following Tommy. _I'm just making sure Tommy doesn't get himself into trouble, the idiot. He'll come to his senses soon enough. And after he has, I'll tell him how stupid he's been. The traitor doesn't deserve our help._

He stiffly walked after Tommy, anger being the only thing fueling his movements. It felt like anger was the only thing driving him nowadays. He had always been someone with a fiery temper, but he had also always been someone who was able to have at least some control over his outbursts. Now, it felt like he was always angry, always ready to lash out, he had lost control over his emotions. But Alex didn't care, anger felt good when he had someone to take it out on, someone to blame.

He caught up with Tommy in time to hear him thanking another soldier and rushing off back to the train station.

"They said he went off towards the station?" Alex asked, doing an awkward mix of walking and jogging as he tried to keep up with Tommy's hurried pace.

"Yeah, they said he was in a rush. He might be trying to board a train that's leaving the station soon." Tommy shoved past the doors leading into the station. He immediately began calling for Gibson, weaving through the crowd.

Alex pushed past soldiers, struggling to keep up with Tommy. God, Tommy was too lithe, Alex could barely stay by his side while Tommy navigated the crowd with ease.

"Doesn't he realize that getting on a train heading to god knows where would just get him into more trouble?" Alex asked, allowing some anger to infect the question. He immediately regretted it when Tommy stopped yelling for the soldier in order to glare at him.

"Gibson's scared, Alex. He has no idea what's happening, and you just made things worse for him, so he's probably a bit overwhelmed right now and not thinking straight." Tommy spat out before going back to calling the soldier's name. Tommy rarely got angry, it surprised Alex a bit, jarring him out of his irritation. Realizing how much it meant to Tommy, Alex began to look around, trying to spot the soldier.

After forcing his way further into the crowd in squinting into the distance, he thought he caught sight of someone with curly brown hair staggering through the soldiers. The soldier in question glanced behind himself nervously, and Alex immediately recognized him. Alex turned towards Tommy, and a thought flashed across his mind. _What if I don't tell Tommy? There's no reason not to, it'll leave us better off._ He hesitated, and then noticed the condition Tommy was in. The boy's voice was frantic as he called out, and his eyes darted about, widened with urgency. If Alex let the soldier go, what state would Tommy be left in? Certainly not a state Alex would want to deal with. Alex heaved a dramatic sigh and grabbed Tommy's wrist, pulling him off in the direction of the soldier.

"You found him?" Tommy asked, and Alex rolled his eyes at the sheer amount of emotion Tommy's voice carried.

"Yeah, he went off this way."

As Alex tugged Tommy through the crowd, he felt Tommy's wrist being wrenched from his hold, and he turned his head to see Tommy being swept away by a new wave of people and struggling to keep up.

"Tommy!" Alex yelled, annoyed. "Hurry your arse up!"

"Just keep going! Stop Gibson and I'll catch up!" Tommy yelled back, being carried further away.

Alex sighed again and hurried forward, trying to chase down the soldier. He cursed and picked up his pace as he heard the Train whistle, signaling that it would leave soon. Luckily, the boy Alex was after had trouble moving through the crowd,  obviously disoriented. Alex caught up easily. The soldier looked back just in time to see Alex right behind him. His eyes widened as Alex grabbed both of his arms, and he let out a small squeak as he fought to get away.

"Laisse moi partir!"The soldier gasped, pulling against Alex's hold.

"Sorry mate," Alex grunted, beginning to drag him to the outskirts of the station. "can't understand a bloody word you're saying."

Other soldiers looked at the pair questioningly, but soon looked away when Alex gave them a stare that dared them to intervene.

With a final tug, he reached a secluded place behind a pillar. The soldier was still struggling to get free, so Alex pulled his arms behind his back and pinned him against the column. By now the boy was shaking violently, and had practically slumped against the pillar, having given up. He was mumbling something Alex couldn't understand. As Alex stared at the soldier, he felt his anger return.

_You shouldn't have come back, you should've stayed dead._

He pressed harder against the soldier, driving him harshly into the wall. The soldier turned his head to the side, and Alex could see he had his eyes squeezed shut as he let out a whimper.

"Shut up." Alex growled.

The soldier opened his eyes at the words and looked at Alex with fear, Alex could do nothing but watch as tears escaped and slipped down his cheek. Alex's eyes darted back up, and he was startled by the view of intensely grey eyes regarding him with terror.

He remembered seeing that same wide-eyed stare on the boat, when he had pointed a gun at the boy. Alex had been angry, desperate, and afraid. Those same eyes looked at him with terror then, too. Another image hit him, those grey eyes looking at him, teary and begging for help as Alex left the soldier to be dragged to the bottom of the channel.

The violent anger Alex had felt turned into devastating sorrow.

_He's a traitor._ Alex told himself, trying to hold onto anger, the only thing that made sense right then. _He should've died, he deserves to die._ But Alex couldn't keep the anger, not when Gibson was looking at him like that, so broken and lost. Alex's mind was spinning, feelings of desolation, confusion, and guilt clouded his thoughts. His grip weakened as he kept staring into eyes that stared back. Gibson's crying abated slightly, as did his shaking. He no longer looked so afraid, and instead seemed to be lost in his own head.

Alex didn't know how long they were like that, but the sound of someone calling his name brought him back to the present.

"Alex! Alex!" Tommy yelled. "Where are you?"

Alex coughed, clearing his throat, it felt like he hadn't spoken in ages.

"Over... Over Here, Tommy!"

Alex turned turned his head in time to see Tommy appear around the corner, and watched as a lopsided grin spread across his face.

"You found him!" Tommy's jubilant expression turned to puzzlement as he looked at Alex. "Alex, why do you look like you've just seen a ghost? Why's Gibson crying?"

It took Alex a few moments to register Tommy's presence, and when he did he pulled Gibson off of the pillar, but still kept a tight grip on Gibson's hands. It took Alex even longer to try to come up with answers for Tommy's questions.

"I...I'm just a bit out of breath, mate, this one actually knows how to put up a fight!" Alex attempted a reassuring smile, but he doubted that it reached his eyes.

Tommy looked hesitant to believe it, but he was quickly distracted. He motioned to Gibson.

"...And why is he crying?"

Alex stole a quick glance at Gibson. Gibson had his head tilted downward, seemingly embarrassed of the tears that continued to fall down his face undisturbed. In a small act of pity, Alex released Gibson's hands from his own clammy ones and instead placed them on Gibson's shoulders.

Gibson immediately went remove any traces of tears, but he made no attempt to move outside of that, which was a step in the right direction, at least.

"Who the hell knows what's goin' on in that head of his. He's not thinking straight right now, like you said." He tried at another encouraging smile, but judging by how Tommy almost shied away, it must have looked even worse than the last one.

"Alright... But, what do we do now?" Tommy asked, stepping closer and examining Gibson.

"Since when was it my job to come up with all the plans?" He answered with a roll of his eyes, and he laughed as Timmy glared at him. "Don't get so worked up. Why don't we just drop him off where he's supposed to be, come up with a story to explain why he seems like he's missing part of his brain, and just check in on him occasionally to make sure he's still breathing?"

Timmy pulled a face as he looked at Alex.

"I don't think it's a good idea to leave him on his own..."

Alex let out a long sigh, trying to dispel the frustration he felt rising up.

"What other choice do we have? We can't take him with us, I doubt the people quartering us will welcome another guest. And we'll be split up again when we go back to the fields, so we may as well start training him to be independent now."

"But if he stays with us, maybe we can teach him some English!"

Alex let out a groan, wishing that Tommy would just drop it.

"Look, we can either escort him where he needs to be and go through with my plan, or we can just leave him here and let him figure it out for himself. I refuse to take him with us, it's just not an option, so you are going to choose between the two that are options, because I think you know that I couldn't care less about what happens to him from now on."

Alex couldn't understand why he said that, all he understood that being by Gibson made him feel powerless, and that he needed to get rid of Gibson to get back control.

Tommy's glare grew more potent, and his eyes darkened. Alex simply glared back, and there was a moment where it seemed neither would concede.

"Fine." Tommy said finally. "We'll take him to his house, and try to lie our way out of this. But you need to realize that I'm going to visit him everyday to make sure he's safe."

Alex snorted, "Fine by me, as long as you know that I'm not coming with you whenever you do." He continued before Tommy could retaliate. "Alright, let's see where this son of a bitch needs to be."

Alex removed one hand from Gibson's shoulders and used the remaining one to spin around Gibson to face him. Gibson stumbled a bit as he was jarred in motion, but quickly recovered. He looked around nervously before finally focusing his eyes on Alex. Alex noted how his eyes still seemed a bit red.

"Alright, mate, show me your paper." Alex said as he pulled an already crumpled and torn slip of paper from his trousers' pocket.

Gibson's eyes flitted down to the paper and then back to Alex, and he became visibly anxious as he began to tug at the bottom of his jacket with both hands. 

Alex simultaneously shook both Gibson and the sheet of paper, trying to goad a response from the boy.

Gibson just numbly shook his head.

Brow furrowed, Alex glanced at Tommy, who shrugged his shoulders, equally confused.

"No? What do you mean 'no'?" Alex asked before waving the paper directly in front of Gibson's face. "Give me your paper."

Gibson shook his head more vigorously, and then shrugged his shoulders as he gestured to the paper in Alex's hand.

"What, do you not have it?"

"He must've lost it." Tommy chimed in.

Gibson looked apologetic, but it did little to help Alex's mood.

"Dammit." He hissed. "What do we do now?" He wanted Gibson gone, but he didn't want to leave him with nowhere to go.

"Well..." Tommy got his attention, and he looked to see a growing grin on his face. "I guess that means that we have to take him with us."

A sour expression crossed Alex's face, which only served to make Tommy laugh out loud. 

"No. We'll take him back to where they handed out the slips, they'll know where he's supposed to go."

"They won't."

"Of course they will Tommy, they must have it recorded."

"Didn't you see the sign?"

"What sign?"

"The sign." 

"Stop being so fucking vague, Tommy! What sign?"

"The sign that said not to lose your paper because it was the only copy of the information."

"You're lying."

"You don't remember the sign? It's the one you accidentally knocked down then refused to acknowledge."

"Shit. It was that sign?"

"Yeah, and now we have to take him with us."

"God dammit."


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoy reading the chapter. If you have any advice for my writing or notice any errors, feel free to leave a comment, thanks!

No matter how many times Tommy glanced at Gibson, he couldn't believe it really was Gibson walking beside him. 

God knows he didn't deserve it being real.

Tommy had killed Gibson. As soon as Tommy had abandoned that boat, he had abandoned his friend, leaving him to die.

He murdered him.

Except, Gibson didn't die. He had lived. 

Through no help received by Alex or Tommy, Gibson had managed to spit in death's face, or maybe choke up seawater in it's face. Then, Gibson had managed to hide his identity, find his way to the train station, and then had managed to have the unfortunate luck of running into Alex and Tommy.

Tommy couldn't imagine how it would feel to cross paths with your murderers after their failed attempt. Gibson had handled it well, all things considered, he didn't run screaming, and he didn't collapse into a heap, begging for his life. He had just stood there, all wide-eyed.

 _Well, he did try to get away from us._  Tommy thought, remembering how Gibson fought.

He didn't want to think about what could have been going through Gibson's mind.

So he instead thought about Alex.

Alex had insisted he'd be the one to lead, since he was "the only one that could read English and know left from right".

The latter part of his statement had been a direct attack on Tommy, since he could hardly even distinguish which direction on the beach led to the abandoned city and which led to the water. 

Alex walked further ahead of Tommy and Gibson than strictly necessary, and he walked fast, like he was trying to lose them.

Tommy knew it was because he didn't want to be close Gibson.

Alex wouldn't admit if his mother's life depended on it, but Tommy knew guilt was eating him hollow. 

Alex had always done a good job at hiding everything behind anger, but there were cracks Tommy could see through at times.

He knew about the anguish Alex felt every time he looked at Gibson. He knew about the devastation Alex felt. He knew about how Alex wanted Gibson to be dead, so those feelings would be dead alongside the him, trapped in the muddy floor of the English channel. 

Tommy decided it would be best to focus on something else. 

The town was looked beautiful, like it belonged on a postcard. The quaint houses were colorful, lining the cobblestone streets, the bars and shops they passed all looked inviting, and Tommy found his eyes lingering on the potted plants that were set outside doorways and hung from porches.

People stood outside the buildings, waving and saluting to the passing groups of soldiers. Alex ignored them, Gibson kept his eyes down, and Tommy waved back. 

Maybe Tommy was being a bit dramatic, but he was so happy to be back in England he felt like crying. 

 _I don't think crying is a good option right now, I'll save it for later._  He decided, focusing his attention forward again.

"It should be just down this street..." Alex mumbled, taking a right turn onto a street heading towards the waters. 

The town had been untouched so far, all of England had been untouched by the poisonous fingers of war, in fact. Tommy wasn't sure what Hitler was planning, if anything at all, but England was strong, and she would endure. 

The street Alex was leading them down was quieter than the one they had just been on. There were only a few groups of soldiers, and only a few groups of waiting civilians. For Tommy, it was the first time in a long time he had relative silence, he had honestly given up hope of ever experiencing it again. 

"Last house on the street..." Alex said to himself, finally putting the slip of paper into his pocket, walking ahead even faster.

The street was a dead-end, and at the edge of the street was a white house. Tommy thought it was pretty, especially against the light-blue of the water. As they drew closer, Tommy noticed the faded red furniture on the front porch, and the large amounts of lush green plants on lawn and in pots. 

Tommy fell in love with it at once.

Nobody was waiting out front, which he thought was a bit odd, but he was excited nonetheless. Their temporary quartering was like a vacation away from the constant sight muddy-browns battlefields being washed over with sickening amounts of blood and gore, they were taking refuge in a quiet town of which war didn't yet know the location of.

Eventually, they stepped foot onto the porch, which creaked lightly under their weight.

With a complete lack of ceremony, Alex just knocked on the door without a word.

Tommy took a glance at Gibson and found him standing a few feet behind him, nervousness etched onto his features. His body was taut and it looked like he was ready to run.

Subtly, Tommy took gentle hold of an arm crossed over Gibson's chest and brought him forward a bit. Tommy then moved his head close by Gibson's ear.

"Don't worry, I'll take care of everything." He mumbled. He knew Gibson couldn't understand, but he hoped his tone would be enough to calm him. It seemed it was, when Tommy pulled back Gibson's posture was a bit more relaxed and his anxious look abated, if only slightly.  

"I hope you've figured out a story for him." Alex said, tossing a dubious glance behind his shoulder.

Before Tommy could respond, the door swung open. 

"Oh! It's so nice to see you boys made it safe and sound." An old woman greeted them, and they all had to look down to meet her eyes. She was short, despite her good posture, and her hair was white, pulled into a low bun. She squinted at them all, like she was looking into the sun.

Tommy immediately adored her. 

Tommy loved elderly people, he had since he first volunteered to help the ones that lived on his street. Where many found them to be boring and out of touch, Tommy thought they were nostalgic and full of wisdom. And they were always so tiny, they were like wrinkly, cynical children. 

"Hello, ma'am, we're supposed to be quartered here for a while." Alex said, stepping inside when the woman gestured them to enter. 

Tommy followed, and then Gibson.

The woman closed the door behind them, and Tommy took in the scene. The house was painted light-blue, and the many windows allowed in an abundance of light. There were framed photos of landscapes and family all over the place, and the furniture looked worn and comfortable.

Then Tommy noticed a burning smell.

Apparently Alex did, too.

"Uh, Ma'am, is something burning or..."

"Oh, that's just husband trying to cook, please excuse me and make yourselves at home." The woman chirped, shuffling through a doorway Tommy assumed led to the kitchen.

"Matthew! Turn off the stove before we all die of smoke inhalation!" Tommy heard the women shout.

"I've forgotten how to!" Came a responding shout. 

Alex plopped down onto a faded couch, putting his hands behind his head, he looking bored.

Tommy sat down beside him and crossed his legs. A force of habit.

Gibson didn't sit, too preoccupied by looking around the room like he was expecting an ambush.

"Christ, man, take a seat, you're making me nervous." Alex said to him, but Gibson took no notice.

"Gibson." Tommy said, catching his attention. Gibson looked stressed. Wordlessly, Tommy nodded to the space beside him. 

Gibson bit at the bottom of his chapped lips, and then silently sat down by Tommy. Gibson didn't sit back, though, instead leaning forward and putting his hands on his knees, still looking around.

Tommy looked at Alex when a leg knocked against his.

"Good luck keeping his cover." Alex said, not even bothering to hide his doubt.

Tommy just frowned back at him, then focused his gaze directly ahead. 

After what must of been five minutes of not talking and just listening to the clattering coming from the kitchen. The old woman and the man, Matthew, walked into the living room.

Matthew seemed to be the opposite of the woman. He was tall, taller than even Alex, and his hair was cropped short. There was a stony look on his face.

"I'm so sorry, dears. We were supposed to have some food ready by the time you got here, but I've lost my glasses and my husband," she gave a squinty glare to Matthew, "apparently wasn't raised properly."

The old man gave a grunt of objection, but offered nothing else in his defence.

"Now, there's a bar just down the road, and we're friends with the owners. Just tell them that Louise and Matthew sent you and they'll fix you up some food with no charge. But before you go, we should all introduce ourselves. I'm Louise White."

"'m Matthew White." The man said gruffly.

"You can call us Louise and Matthew." Louise said, smiling.

"My name is Tommy, it's nice to meet you."

"I'm Alex, good meeting you."

All eyes fell on Gibson, who was stuck glancing between Matthew and Louise like they were undercover Nazi spies.

"Ah, this is Gibson." Tommy spoke up. "The latest fighting's taken a toll on him, he won't speak or acknowledge anyone."

"Oh, poor thing! Is he going to be alright?" Said Louise, taking a concerned step forward.

"I'm not sure, we'll just have to give him time and see." Tommy answered, hoping they wouldn't catch on. 

"I hope he recovers quickly, let us know if there's anything that can be done." The woman said, frowning. "Well, now that introductions have been dealt with, we'll show you all to your room." The women's brow suddenly furrowed, like she'd realized something.

 _Has she figured it out already, how could she?_  Tommy thought, panicking.

"Hmm, we only set up two beds, I thought we were told there would be only two of you. Is that right, Matthew?"

"Let me check," he mumbled, pulling a paper out of his shirt pocket and examining it closely. "That's right, two soldiers, 35 days." 

Both Matthew and Louise looked back to them, waiting for an answer.

The bottom of Tommy's stomach dropped out.

"Oh, um," Tommy began, not sure how to continue.

"You see," Alex interrupted, a sharp grin pulling at the corners of his mouth "Our friend here, Gibson,-"

_Don't you dare tell them._

"-he's a bit out of it, you understand? He had a different assignment from us, he was supposed to be staying alone at a different house, but we didn't want to leave him by himself while he's still recovering, so we thought we should take him with us. We won't give you any extra trouble, and if either of them have to sleep on the floor, that's fine by us."

Tommy was taken by surprise, the statement was out of character from how Alex usually acted towards Gibson, except for the last bit, of course.

Louise clasped her hands together.

"Oh! How nice of you two. He's lucky to have friends like you two. You're all welcome to stay here. And none of you have to sleep on the floor, there's a couch in the room one of you boys can sleep on. Let us show you." The Louise began shuffling away, Matthew, awkwardly following, was awkwardly followed by Alex, Tommy, and with prompting, Gibson.

Louise lead them up some dark wooden stairs that creaked and down a carpeted hall until they got to a guest room. The room, with a slanted ceiling, had plenty of room. In the middle, there were two twin beds, and off to the side there was a dresser. In the corner of the room, under a big window that faced the sea, was a lime green couch big enough to sleep on. 

"The bathroom is just through that door. There's some extra blankets and pillows in the closet just outside the room, and some clothes in the dresser. When you want, you can get changed and give me the clothes your wearing, I'll wash them." Louise said, showing them around the room.

"That boy needs a change especially." Matthew spoke suddenly, jerking his head to Gibson. "His clothes are about three sizes too big."

"Matthew, don't be rude." Louise chastised, hitting his shoulder.

"What? It's true." Matthew shot back.

"Thank you both so much for your hospitality." Tommy said, as he smiled and glanced over to Gibson who had become nervous from the brief attention, hoping the smile would clue him in. It didn't.

"You're welcome, darling. We'll let you boys get settled in, and you can head over to the bar whenever you feel like it. It's called the Channel Stop, it's just down the street and to the left, you'll see it." Louise said, starting out of the room.

"Bye." Matthew said, closing the door as he left. 

"Good job, Tommy, real good job. The part where you froze up was an excellent move." Alex said, voice dripping sarcasm as he sat on a bed, already claiming it. He began examining the room, yawning. 

"Lay off." Was all Tommy said back, crossing his arms. He then sighed and uncrossed his arms.

"Thank you." He said.

Alex focused his attention onto Tommy, already narrow eyes narrowing further.

"What?" 

"Thank you for covering us." Tommy explained.

Alex scoffed and resumed looking around.

"You're welcome, that's the only time I'm going to help your secret little mission."  

They stood in silence for a moment, and then they both focused on a squeak coming from the corner of the room.

Gibson had sat down on the couch when it made a noise, and the sudden attention had him sinking further into the cushions, folding in on himself with a worried expression. 

"Je suis désolé" He murmured, looking down at tightly folded hands. He was obviously on edge, probably exhausted.

Tommy was about to say something, when Alex beat him to it.

"Alright, I'm going to head out to that bar before his shadow gives him a heart attack. You coming?" Alex got up suddenly, making Gibson jump. 

"I don't think so, I'll stay here with Gibson." Tommy said.

Alex just rolled his eyes, walking to the door.

"Your loss. I'll bring you both back something to eat."

"Thank you." Tommy called after him as the door shut for a second time. He himself wasn't feeling very hungry, they had handed out some rations at the station, but he wasn't sure when the last time Gibson ate was.

Speaking of Gibson. His head had returned downwards, and he was leaning forward on the couch , rocking a bit. 

"Hey, Gibson." Tommy called out, hoping to get his attention. 

Gibson showed no response.

"Gibson?" He tried again. 

No response.

"Gibson..." He started forward, stopping when he stood right in front of him.

Gibson still didn't reply.

Tommy knelt down in front of him, hoping to catch his bowed gaze. 

Gibson's eyes were tightly shut, and he was chewing at his bottom lip to the point of it bleeding as he simply rocked back and forth. 

Tommy was scared by what he saw, unsure of what was happening. Trying to ground him, Tommy reached forward and grabbed his clasped hands.

Gibson's eyes shot open, and gasp left his mouth, which was then followed by a quiet sob as tears slipped from his eyes and blood ran from his lips. He pulled his hands from Tommy's grasp and fell back against the couch, hands moving to cover his face. 

"Je suis désolé... Je suis tellement désolé, j'en peux plus, Je suis tellement désolé..." Gibson choked out, his whole body wracked with more sobs.

Tommy hated seeing Gibson like that. He had been through so much already, why was he still suffering? 

 _He's suffering because of we put him through._  The realization startled Tommy, and he quickly began to feel like he was going to throw up, he pushed the sensation down for Gibson's sake. 

Letting out a deep sigh to try to expel some emotion, Tommy extended forward, putting himself up on both knees. He reached forward again, placing his hands over Gibson's. He tried very gently to pull them away to no avail.

"Gibson, please." Tommy kept his voice quiet and calm. "I need you to look at me. Can you do that for me? I want to help you, all you have to do is look at me, I promise I won't let anything hurt you. Can you please look at me?"

Tommy tried again to pull his hands away, this time succeeding.  

The tears and blood on his face had been smeared, but both sources hadn't stopped their flow. Tremors still dominated his body. His light-blue eyes were rimmed with red, and the circles under his eyes were suddenly much darker and more prominent than what Tommy remembered. His usually pink lips had become red and raw, blood seeping from the wounds he'd given himself. 

Tommy felt his heart break. 

Slowly, carefully, Tommy pulled Gibson up to stand with him, ignoring the burning behind his eyes. Gibson struggled to stand, so Tommy took hold of his forearms to guide him.

"There you go, nice and gentle." Tommy cooed, trying to comfort him.

Once they were both standing upright, Tommy had to decide what to do next.

"Let's get you cleaned up..." Tommy said, guiding Gibson to the bathroom. The bathroom was small, but Tommy would manage. He placed Gibson down on the closed toilet lid, grimacing as he practically collapsed, head falling forward. 

Tommy grabbed a washcloth from the towel holder and got it cold and wet in the sink. He then knelt in front of Gibson.

"Alright, I'm just going to clean your face." Tommy said, more for himself than for Gibson. Gibson didn't respond, his eyes had fallen shut. Tommy could see his throat working to swallow a forming lump.

He gingerly cupped a hand under Gibson's jaw, bringing his head up and holding it in place. Gibson's eyes opened slowly at that and regarded him warily, but they soon slid shut again. He first began by dabbing the cloth under his eyes, trying to clean off the tears and trying to bring down the swelling from the rings and him crying. Tommy noticed Gibson's trembling had weakened, the worst being over, and Tommy thanked the heavens. 

After he was satisfied with his work. He got up and re-wet the cloth and then knelt down again, fitting his hand back underneath his jaw. Gibson kept his eyes shut.

He examined the condition of his lips. The blood had slipped from his lips all the way down to his chin, and the blood was now beginning it's descent down his neck. At least it looked like the bleeding from his lips was slowing. 

Tommy couldn't help but cringe at the thought of how hard he must've been biting his lips. 

Tommy began to dab at his mouth, and Gibson jerked back in pain as his eyes opened, his lips too tender to be touched.

"I'm sorry, I know it hurts," Tommy soothed, absently rubbing his thumb over the juncture of Gibson's jaw and neck, "I'll be gentle though, just hold still for me."

Gibson looked uncertain, and new tears began to form, but he eventually closed his eyes and leaned forward, a silent sign to continue.

Tommy's mouth twitched into a tired smile, glad Gibson trusted him so much.

He raised the cloth to Gibson's lips, trying to be as gentle as possible when he touched them. Slowly, the blood began to clear away, allowing Tommy to assess the damage. There were two main gashes on his bottom lip, they were wide, but they didn't look deep enough to be too damaging. All they would need to heal was time. Tommy finished cleaning Gibson's mouth, re-wet the cloth, then cleaned the blood off his chin and throat. 

When Tommy had fully finished, he cleaned and hung the towel and washed his hands. He then guided Gibson up by his elbows and led him to the sink. Gibson understood the signal and began to wash his hands clean of blood.

While Gibson was cleaning himself, Tommy went to the dresser and opened it. Inside he found plain white button-shirts, black trousers, and underpants. They all came in various sizes, and Tommy just guessed at which ones would fit Gibson.

 _Gibson is thinner than Alex, but not as thin as me, he's somewhere in the middle._ Tommy thought. 

Walking back into the bathroom, Tommy found Gibson staring in the mirror, running his fingers over his mouth. When he noticed Tommy he turned to face him. 

"Merci." Gibson said suddenly, regarding Tommy with wide eyes, hands fidgeting at his sides. 

Tommy gave a smile, hoping that would be enough to say he was happy to help a friend. 

They looked at each other for a moment longer before Tommy gestured to the shower behind Gibson.

"Here, take these clothes and get showered." Tommy said, depositing the clothes onto the sink's counter. 

Gibson seemed to understand, giving a nod.

Tommy nodded back and left the bathroom, closing the door behind him. 

Tommy stood by the door until he heard the shower turn on. 

Then he sat on the couch and cried.


End file.
